Our mother is the sweetest and Most delicate of all. She knows more of paradise Than angels can recall. She’s not only beautiful But passionately young, Playful as a kid, yet wise As one who has lived long. Her love is like the rush of life, A bubbling, laughing spring That runs through all like liquid light And makes the mountains sing. And makes the meadows turn to flower And trees to choicest fruit. She is at once the field and bower In which our hearts take root. She is at once the sea and shore, Our freedom and our past. With her we launch our daring ships Yet keep the things that last.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Jul 2013 19:38:20 +0000
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